I honestly don't have much to say about this chapter that won't give it away at the end, aside from the fact that I want to give a warning. This chapter deals with incredibly dark ideas including self-harm and suicide. If that bothers you, it might be best to avoid this chapter.
Chapter 27: Alone
Emma did not know much about art. The subject had not been part of her lessons with the Amazons, and it certainly hadn't been something she'd talked about with her family before now. She knew of the gods of the arts of course, of Apollo and his gifts, of the muses, but as the teenager looked at the various pieces all displayed in the showroom of the auction house all she could do was draw was a very big blank.
She really didn't see any difference between any of the paintings or statues as Sam looked over them, murmuring to himself softly and waving an EMF reader over the items as he did so. He kept talking under his breath about different time periods and artists, words that meant nothing to her, and for once she didn't try to overcome her confusion by asking.
She'd been decidedly uncomfortable since last night, and didn't feel much like talking. The coldness that her uncle had addressed her with before had made it clear that she'd broken one of the first rules that had been instilled in her when the Winchesters had originally taken her in, that she was to know nothing about their pasts. It wasn't allowed to be asked about, not permitted for her to know. The harsh looks of her father whenever she tried had flashed in her mind when Sam had addressed her, reminding her that nothing had changed for her situation. She was still the tag-along, still held at arm's length, not permitted to have any knowledge of her family's past because she was still had not been fully accepted.
The only reason she was even here was because her father was not around to forbid it, and Sam needed backup and could not hunt on his own. He'd said so himself.
The thing was, Emma understood how kinship worked. Her sisters had made it clear. Action earned affection, proving you were worth your family's time. To have love you had to prove that you deserved it through your deeds. No one had time to waste on a failure.
As an Amazon, she'd been designed to grow up in a unit. Her dependence on family and acceptance was deeply ingrained in her, down to her blood. She didn't know about the other gods, but her own were so closely linked in family it only made sense it had been passed to their offspring, no matter how many generations down from them she was. Due to her blood, it was impossible to be on her own, and it made her ache to prove herself so that she could finally belong.
Even her father's acceptance of her had depended solely on her behavior, and she'd blown that completely. To have been spoken to so harshly by her uncle had made her shrink back in on herself and hope that he'd forgive her soon. Maybe this case would be a good chance to get back into his good graces.
So she kept her mouth shut as Sam worked, following him silently as he checked the different art pieces on display. She barely glanced up when the woman Sarah walked up to the two of them, a sad and tired looking smile on her face.
"Welcome back," she said to the two of them. "Sorry for making you wait. It's been a busy morning so far. Since I figured you guys would need your privacy I made sure no one else came in today. It's left me with a long list of things to get taken care of. Feels like I barely got home to sleep between leaving late last night and getting here first thing in the morning."
"You do look kind of exhausted. Is this okay?" Sam asked but she just waved off his concern.
"Wouldn't be the first time I got less than optimal sleep," she replied. "I'll be fine. Just arranging all this on my own has been kind of a lot of work, even before you showed up. It's been tiring is all, but it's not like I can just take a break because I feel like it. Anyway, enough about me. Have you found anything?"
"Small readings, nothing that would indicate anything though," he said with a shake of his head. "The victim, Justin, did anything of his get brought back here?"
"I'm afraid not," she answered. "He had bought some pieces from us, a few, so I might be able to purchase them back if the family is willing to sell. They declined the invitation for the fundraiser but I might be able to get them to deal privately. That might make it easier for you. Do you think it's another ghost?"
"Too early to tell. What can you tell me about him?" he replied.
She crossed her arms over her chest and sighed, looking for all the world like the weight of all this was trying to crush her. Hunched into herself, she shook her head a little.
"His full name is Justin Kagle. He'd been here for a while working at an internship, and when his required hours were over he got hired here part-time. He was a great kid, had friends, good grades, worked hard. He spent a lot of time here," she explained.
"What kind of work did he do?"
"Mostly cataloging, filing receipts on our purchases and occasionally going out on scouting purchases. He usually accompanied me but sometimes he'd be able to get a find of his own," she explained.
"That kind of work could have exposed him to just about anything. Has anyone else here been acting strange?"
"Not that I'd noticed, no."
"If he came in contact with anything then it might have left the shop quickly since no one else seems out of sorts, but still got a hold of him somehow… Was there any change with him? Anything at all?"
"Well, the last month or so he had been coming here a lot more. His parents fighting… he wanted to get away from it," she explained. "It was clear he was hiding away here but that seemed normal for what he was going through. I didn't think anything of it."
"You mentioned they were getting a divorce?" he asked to which she nodded her head. "Was there anything in the last month you sold to him that would be at his house?"
"He bought a replica bust of David," she replied. "He had an interest in statues."
"Did he always buy things like that?"
"Yes, that's right," Sarah said. "It's the latest item he got from here. He liked to collect those kinds of things. As far as I know there's no violent history with the piece though."
"Could you get the provenance for it for us?" Sam asked. "Of all the things he bought."
"Already prepared it for you," she said as she handed him a thick envelope. "It's a list of the things he purchased, but there's also lists in there of things he worked closely with. I also made sure none of the purchases made last night at the auction shipped out yet. You know, just in case there is something still here. I tried to see if any object had a violent history, but there wasn't much time before you arrived."
"No, Sarah, this is great. You've done a lot already, thanks," he assured her while Emma wondered why she was even here. She didn't really seem to be contributing much.
"You know, he was a student. I could probably get access to his home by pretending to be a friend of his from his classes," she offered before Sam shook his head, looking over the papers.
"No need. We've already got a good excuse to go over there," he said shortly as he read. "Sarah, can you call the family and tell them I'm an agent of yours? You can say you want to buy it back to help them financially. Since you already did the fundraiser last night it'll be a good cover."
"Sure. I'll go make the call now," she said with a nod as she walked off.
Emma glanced over at Sam, but he was too busy looking over the papers to notice, so she just let her shoulders sink and sit down at a nearby chair, wondering why she was even bothering. The girl had plenty of practice at feeling sorry for herself in her life so far, certainly enough had happened to give her reason to complain. She was no stranger to voicing her displeasure either, but right now it seemed kind of pointless.
Why… why was she here? Why had she thought that hunting would help her? This was just the same as before. Along for the ride but on the outside, unable to contribute because her family would not let her. Even if she ran off on her own, it would only lead to getting in trouble later on, lose her the trust she'd worked so hard to earn.
She scoffed. What trust? The trust to be out of the hotel room? The trust to stand nearby while everyone else did the work? Like that counted for anything.
She understood affection had to be earned, was fine with it, but why was she not even being given the chance?
"Deep down you're still the stupid little Amazon who can't do anything right, and everyone knows it."
It was like a dark whisper in her brain, a voice she didn't know the origin of, but the self-doubt was obvious. Did she have a purpose at all? Was this going to be her life, clinging to people who wouldn't let her know anything, would always hold her far away as she begged to allowed closer?
Was there any point to this life at all?
She felt the knife in her pants, sharp and heavy. She'd betrayed her sisters for this life, and it was getting her nowhere. No honor, glory or legend to her name. No trials, no great deeds and no acceptance. She was a failure in everything. This life was a failure. All she had was her uncle and he didn't even have a real use for her. It would be best just to-
"Emma."
She looked up to see Sam standing over her, catching her attention with his words, an ache at the sight of him. Just what had she done wrong now?
"Change of plans. Sarah tried to call and they just hung up on her," he said. "I'm pretty sure they don't want to talk about selling anything. I'm going to head over there and talk to them myself. You-"
"Stay in the hotel. Yeah, I got it," she replied numbly.
"Uh… yeah, if you want. Sounds like a plan," he said. "Need me to drive you?"
Emma considered it for a second, thinking it over. No. No, she was not going to do this. She was not going to be worthless. Fine, she wasn't old enough to pretend to be some FBI agent, but there was no way she'd just lay down and accept that.
"I'll take a cab," she said with a shake of her head as a plan started to form in her mind over just what she needed to do. "Go on without me. I'll meet you back at the hotel."
"Alright. Call if anything comes up," he said before he took the papers and left.
Sam parked in front of the home when he arrived at the address supplied to him by Sarah, resting his hands on the steering wheel and not yet bothering to climb out of it. His mind was a little bit too preoccupied to really be thinking on the case as he should have been. Being back here in New Paltz was probably messing with him more than he would have liked to admit, and he was wondering just what he was doing. He hadn't found any indication anything in his field of work was even going on yet, and seeing Sarah again after so long was making it harder to concentrate.
She was married.
It was a strange feeling in his gut, the idea of her having moved on with her life. It wasn't that he held it against her that she hadn't waited. In fact, a part of him was happy that she hadn't. The mess that his life had been, it was almost guaranteed that it never would have worked out, and if he had tried to force it then it all would have fallen apart around him. Jess had been killed to get him hunting again, demons gunning for him to force him to take the right path. If he'd been stupid enough to allow himself to get more serious about the woman it was likely she would have just ended up dead too.
No, it was better that he'd left. He knew that, just like it was better that she'd found someone who wouldn't get her tied up in this kind of life. Still, something in him ached, not entirely for her but just… the things she had. She was happy, married and experiencing a good life. She had something he'd wanted more than anything forever, and deep down he knew nothing he could have done would have allowed him to share it with her. He actually felt jealous that she had others that cared for her, while hunting had torn away everyone he'd loved.
Now was not the time to get sentimental though. He knew he had work to do, and he needed to do it. If something was going on then he needed to get to the bottom of it, and if not then it would be best just to put this town behind him. Stepping out of the car, he crossed over the neatly trimmed grass and up to the door, rapping on it with his knuckles.
He had to knock again a couple of times before the door finally opened, a haggard-looking woman at the door. The smeared make-up made it clear that she'd been crying, and she looked at Sam with clear distaste.
"What?" she barked out.
"Afternoon, ma'am," he said as he fished out his badge for her, flashing it to her so she would see it looked real without being able to glean any real information from it. "I'm Agent Smith. I'm here to talk to you about your son, Justin."
She glared at him through glassy eyes and moved to shut the door but Sam's hand caught it before it closed, refusing to be denied so quickly.
"Mrs. Kagle, I know what you're going through right now," he said, trying to seem soothing even as he kept her from sending him away. "Cases like this are very troubling for the parents, but if I have any chance of figuring out what happened I'm going to need your help. I realize the investigation is pointing towards Justin as the cause of all this, but I need to be sure what kind of person he was."
That caused her to hesitate a little, frowning a bit.
"You talk like you don't believe he did it," she replied softly.
"I'd like to think he didn't," he said, technically true. It could have easily been something that had been riding around in him or just looked like him. "Can I just have a bit of your time, please?"
The older woman looked at him hard for a second, and Sam had to wonder if he'd laid it on a bit thick before the door slowly opened and she stepped aside for the 'agent'.
"Come inside," she whispered and the man quickly did as she was told, glad she hadn't failed at the first step. "Justin was a good boy. I just refuse to believe what all the police are saying. They keep coming back again and again to hound me about him."
"Yes, ma'am," he said as he followed her to the living room and sat down opposite her on a couch with a coffee table between them. Looking around, the place was well decorated but it had the warmth of a freezer. There were no pictures of any family he could see, just landscape paintings, thick carpets and cream-colored walls. It felt more like an office than a home. "Now I understand he was in school at the time, very busy then?"
"Classes kept him out most of the day," Mrs. Kagle said. "Oh, you won't believe the terrible reporters sniffing around, asking all these horrible questions, and the police. And that awful art collector woman, badgering me and asking me to go to fundraisers and to sell her Justin's things. Money grubbing backstabber."
Sam forced himself to ignore that part, reminding himself that the woman was in grieving.
"When he was home, did you notice anything strange about him?" he asked. "Was he acting like himself? Odd smells about him, like brimstone maybe?"
"What? What kind of questions are those? Weird smells? Are you trying to imply he was on drugs?" she asked.
"I know it sounds weird, but it's just standard. Anything odd that stood out to you at all?"
The woman shook her head before grabbing a tissue to wipe at her face, Sam moving the box closer to her so she could reach it.
"Who the hell did you let in the house now, Francine?!"
The hunter jumped a bit at the sudden yelling, a man storming into the living room before Sam could try to glean some information on where Justin's room might be. He looked just as bad as Mrs. Kagle did, but more angry than crying his eyes out, a stormy expression on his face.
"Don't yell at him, Edward! It's someone who's hoping to prove Justin is innocent!" the woman snapped at him. "The only decent person who's been here in days!"
"Oh, I'm sure. Our son went and murdered people and you're fishing for sympathy," he sneered at her before glaring at Sam. "What do you want? Come to gawk at the failure parents who raised a killer?"
"Stop it! He didn't kill anyone! I don't believe it!"
"You're really going to bury your head in the sand about this?!"
Sam could only stare at the two as they started to yell at each other. He was starting to get why Sarah had told him Justin had been spending all of his time away from the house.
"Excuse me, I don't want to cause any trouble, but this is an official investigation," he cut in before the two's screaming match could get any worse. "I'll try to finish up quickly. Is it alright if I go and look at his room? I'll be out of your hair soon so you can continue your… mourning."
The two looked at him, seeming ashamed of the blow up they'd had in front of a stranger for no reason. Maybe they were in a rough place, or it had always been like this, or maybe even worse if they were wondering if their fighting had been what had driven Justin to his actions. It couldn't have been easy on either of them, but Sam didn't feel too bad about using that guilt to speed up his work.
"I'll take you there," Edward said stiffly. "Just hurry up so you can leave. And Francine, clean yourself up for God's sake."
The man led him to the room but seemed to have no desire to look inside of the place his now dead son had lived, walking away after he opened it for Sam. He slipped inside and closed it behind him anyway, just in case. Unlike the rest of the place, it looked messy and unkempt, books and loose papers everywhere, half-filled sketchbooks littered around on an unmade bed. Knowing he probably didn't have long, he pulled the list from his jacket and looked it over again. The bust was right out in the open, sitting on a desk, along with a couple other statues on display on shelves. Pulling out his EMF reader, he passed it over everything, trying to see if anything would give him a hit. The readings were around the middle range, something here but it was faint.
Going to the closet, he opened it up and began to rummage through the several boxes that were stacked inside until the needle on the reader shot up into the red when he reached a shoebox shoved in the back. Flipping the thin cardboard covering off, he looked inside to see a leather bag folded in over itself. Opening it up, there were steel tools with wooden handles, polished clean but cracked in places, some of the different pieces of metal shiny and restored while a few of them were still battered and old looking. A hammer was among them, along with small chisels and tattered looking rock blanket, all bound by strips of leather though one slot seemed to be empty.
"Well, Dean. Looks like the jackpot," he breathed before he wrapped it up quickly and shoved it into his jacket, now ready to leave.
The building of State University of New York left Emma feeling more confused than she would have bargained on. Tall and wide, the campus sat proudly underneath the warm sun, gleaming out from the several glass panels forming a triangle and looking for all the world like a beacon as she stood before it. So, this is what her father had wanted her to have. It seemed so big to her and it left her with an unpleasant roll in her stomach.
A few people milled about, carrying books and with bags slung on their backs. She didn't pay them much mind, wondering just what she was doing here. The cab driver hadn't been given the instructions to take her to the hotel, instead bringing her to the college where Justin had apparently tied up his friends and killed them along with himself. She wanted to investigate this on her own, determined not to be seen as useless or in the way. It would lead to her getting in trouble, she knew that already, but if she accepted that before it actually happened then how bad could the punishment that would lay in store for her really be?
Walking inside, she wandered the empty halls, occasionally passing a door with groups of people inside that she could see through the small windows in the wood. She'd already scoped outside of the building, able to see where the fire had been from some damaged, blackened wall and boarded up windows, but how to get there she wasn't sure of. It was on the third story, she'd been able to tell that much, so the first thing she had to do was find the stairs and go from there.
After all, it's not like she would be able to find some sign that would lay out to her where the students had died. Still, the place seemed affected by it, black ribbons and banners hung up along the walls and ceiling to show the mourning atmosphere of the place.
She'd just turned a corner to see if she could find the stairs when it happened, doors opening all at once. Freezing, she looked behind herself to see students walking out and filling the hall, talking among themselves. Eyes widening at the crowd forming, a throng around her, she had to step back suddenly and press herself against the wall. People bumped into her, even as she tried to make herself as small as possible. Shutting her eyes tight, she forced herself to breathe, her hands digging into her hair and covering her ears. The echo of their steps were hitting her hard, thundering around her. Their talking drowned her, pulling her under the white noise.
Her nails dug into her skin, leaving welts as it took everything she had not to scream, her teeth sinking into her tongue with a desperate need to keep it in. The pain would give her something to concentrate on, give her some focus back. She thought about anything to try and distract herself, imagining the burning of her wrist as she was branded and told to have control. Control, she needed control. It would stop eventually. Just ride it out.
When the doors shut again, she finally allowed herself to open her eyes, wide and shaking. She could have been there against the wall for an hour or maybe only a few minutes. Honestly, she didn't know. It occurred to her that not a single person had stopped to ask her if she was okay, but in retrospect that was probably for the best. She was sure she probably would have panicked and hurt someone to get them away from her if they'd stayed around too long in order to check up on her.
"Yeah, no," she said firmly to herself as she turned right back around and stormed out of the school building. She was not doing this. No way. Never before in her life had she been happier than she was right then that she'd escaped the fate her father had insisted on shoving onto her. She was not doing that, nor was she going to risk that happening again. The doors burst open as she shoved them a little too hard to get out of there, but she breathed easier in the open air.
Still, she needed a way to get to the room where the fire had happened. Going through wasn't an option so how to do it? Well, perhaps she was thinking about this wrong.
The area of the building that had housed the fire was largely abandoned. No people that she could see, and only yellow tape to act as any kind of guard to keep anyone away. She ignored it as she ducked under and looked up at the wall. Cracking her knuckles, she took a few feet back before taking a running leap at it and grabbing the brick under her fingers, lifting herself up as her feet dug into the wall to hoist herself up further. There weren't any footholds for her in order to make it easy but she didn't really need them. Climbing the wall, she moved up further and further until she was at a large board nailed over what had to be a window. Grabbing it, she ripped it off the wall along the corner, just enough to climb inside.
It was everything she expected, and also not anything like it at the same time. She'd expected the smell of smoke, the charred furniture still scattered around the floor, but the aroma held more than just a lingering feeling of charred wood and stone. There was a sense of burning flesh there too, sickly and thick in the air that made her cover her mouth with her jacket sleeve. Death hung in the air all around her, but it was still more welcome than what she'd been trapped in just a while ago.
Her boots left imprints in ash covering the floor as she walked around, her toe occasionally knocking something out of her way. There wasn't much here, the scene already covered by the police. She could see tape covering the doorway and wondered idly if there was even a clue to find here.
"You know your father would be laughing at you right now. What are you even hoping to pull off?"
The voice of self-doubt was back, louder in her head while still whispering darkly to her. Anger started to build up in her, resenting the thoughts she was having. She was not a tag-along! She could do this! Glaring at a chair in her way, she kicked it hard enough to send it flying and crashing against the wall. Her eyes burned and she knew without checking they'd gone red but she didn't give a damn. Why should she be afraid? Why should she worry about what some strangers could do to her? She was stronger than them! She didn't need to be a good girl for some man who'd just longed for the chance to throw her away!
Her gaze drug down to see a sharp piece of metal, long and thin with a tip that was pointed and attached to a wooden handle. Stooping down, she picked it up and examined it.
It felt heavy in her hand, with the same weight as her knife had earlier. Idly, she ran her fingertips over it, thinking over her whole life.
It was a short one, not much that had happened in it so far. Certainly nothing good, at least not that she could remember. Her father teaching her how to play cards? Listening to music with her? It had been nothing but things to placate her, to get her to not whine too much about being left behind. Dean Winchester had never wanted her around and had certainly never seen her as family. She was a case to him, nothing more.
Well, he was wrong. He was wrong about her, and she'd show him that.
He was at peace, but they didn't have to be separated. She knew where he'd gone to, past this life, dead and gone. It was a distance that could easily be crossed. She knew how to get to him.
But… then her uncle would be all alone… an uncle where she wasn't sure if he wanted her either. He'd promised to stay, but their first case and she already was getting put on the bench again, yelled at…
No… he hadn't yelled at her, had he? Talked sternly but…
Her hand gripped the tool tightly, a frown forming on her lips.
Her uncle had taken her along because he didn't want to do it alone. It wasn't the same as being family. It wasn't the same as love. She could change that though, she could get the three of them together again and earn their love somehow…
Tearing the tape off from the door, she strode out of the blackened room with purpose, something in the gloom smiling despite having no mouth.
Walking back to the hotel room, she opened it and pushed the door open. Sam was already inside, laying things out on the table. It seemed he had just gotten in himself and she slowly stalked up to him. She'd make it quick and then follow him. Then they could all be together again.
"Emma, you're back. Where were you?" he asked as he turned to face her. Her fist squeezed the tool before he saw it and he grinned wide at her.
The expression caused her to falter, and she froze completely when he walked toward her.
"I was wondering where the last one was," he said before he took it from her. She was too baffled at the warmth in his smile to even think to stop him, her head swimming. He looked happy, genuinely happy. What was she… How had she gotten… "I think I might have found what caused the case. When I got to Justin's one of the things in his room was reading pretty hot on EMF, a set of stone carving tools, but one of them was missing. I couldn't find it anywhere. Where'd you get this?"
"I… I went… to the college," she said slowly, feeling sluggish and weird. She remembered getting back to the hotel, but only vaguely. It was like she was in a fog, thinking more than a little difficult. "It was… on the floor, I think?"
"You went there on your own?" Sam asked her, and she felt her heart sink.
"I mean, I thought I could help and-" she tried to excuse before he clapped her on the shoulder.
"Good initiative. I know this case has been a little lopsided. Not showing you the ropes really well," he said to her. "With Sarah doing most of the work it didn't seem to really have much point to explain it all to you step by step. Still, good work thinking of going there. That saved a lot of time."
Emma could only stand there, more confused than she had been all day.
"You're not mad?" she asked him.
"What? No, why would I be? You're allowed to investigate on your own, as long as you're careful. Though, next time tell me where you're going, alright? Here I thought you were still at the auction house. I was about to call you actually, but no harm no foul," he said with a shrug of his shoulders.
That had not been the reaction she'd been expecting, at all. Her father would have been furious at her, but here Sam was telling her that she'd done a good job. She'd helped, she'd contributed to this. A small smile tugged at her lips and she looked away, almost feeling bashful.
"I… It was nothing," she said as her grin spread. The dark cloud of doubt that had been hanging over her head for the whole day was gone completely now, pride and happiness in her that she'd been able to pull off impressing her family. It spread a warmth in her she had missed. "So, what do we do now?"
"Honestly, I'd like to investigate exactly what this is," Sam said. "So we know how to deal with it. I'm thinking it could be a cursed object, in which case we'll need bone ash and cayenne pepper to get rid of it, but it also might be a ghost in which case we'll have to salt and burn it. So we lock it up while I try and find some information about it in the papers Sarah gave us. We need to see if we can find anything about tools in here."
Several hours in and Sam pulled something out from the stack, circling something with a pencil and pulling his laptop toward him to type in a few keys. Emma's eyes ached from reading so much, and her stomach growled in hunger. It was already nightfall out and she was eager to call this done and over with.
"Did you find something?" she asked him tiredly.
"I think so," he replied. "At first I thought I was wrong because the tools have changed hands a lot of times, but not every time resulted in deaths. In fact, most of them didn't. Still, get this, every time it did, it ended in a murder of at least two people."
"Or a person committing suicide and killing someone else," she breathed out. "Just like Justin."
And someone else? No, it had only been his death that had happened so far, right? She couldn't help but feel like she was forgetting something. Her head ached as she tried to remember. Gods above, was she tired.
"So what? This is a curse that only goes off some of the time?" Emma asked.
"No, curses don't work that way. It affects anyone it comes in contact with," he told her. "I think I know what is the cause though."
He turned the laptop towards her, showing her a website with an old article on display.
"According to this, there was a man named Blaise Reynard who was a stone carver, specifically he made gargoyles," he told her. She could only shoot him a confused look, so he elaborated. "Stone creatures that are decorations for buildings. Some of them act as water spouts to keep rainwater off of walls. He died in 1911, reported as falling from a building he was making gargoyles for at the time, Mohonk Moutain House, which is a resort here in town. It was an accident apparently."
"But you think it might have been suicide?" she asked.
"Yeah. The tools we found, they belonged to him. Apparently he was well known in the region so the tools swapped hands some, and from the state of them I'm thinking Justin got a hold of them and was trying to restore them, and Blaise's ghost got to him."
"Why trigger with Justin and not someone else?" she asked. "Sarah had them at her shop."
"Considering what he was going through, I'm thinking he only needed a push. It might not affect others," he said.
She chewed her bottom lip and tried to focus. Something was seriously nagging at her.
"What is it?"
"I can't help but feel like I'm… forgetting something," she admitted to him. "Like I left something behind somewhere. It's nothing. I guess I'm just trying to keep up with the details."
"The way his two parents fought… If he had to deal with that it might have driven him over the edge," he said as he picked up the small, leather bag. "In any case, we need to get rid of this before it affects anyone else. Grab the salt and a lighter. We'll take care of this outside."
She followed him out of the room, the two of them ducking around behind the building where they wouldn't be seen. Sam threw the things to the ground, handing the salt to Emma.
"Lay in on evenly and liberally. It needs to cover the majority of it. Don't worry about skimping," he instructed as she poured it. Then pulling out a pack of matches, he handed it to her so she could light the whole thing and toss it on to watch them burn away.
"This almost feels too easy," she admitted as she scratched the back of her neck, blushing a little.
"Yeah, we were lucky to catch a break so fast."
"No, no I mean… something feels wrong."
He looked over at her curiously, obviously waiting for her to explain.
"Well, when we were there, I got this kind of… bad feeling? I'm not sure how to describe it," she admitted. "I was… I don't know. It sounds stupid."
"That's pretty normal on ghost hunts."
"I know, but it's like I can't remember something. It started earlier, when we were with Sarah. I just… I was getting… sad, I guess? Like I didn't belong and..."
He watched her as she sighed and drifted off, before shaking her head.
"No, it's nothing."
"Emma, what is it?" he asked her again. "Is something wrong you want to talk about?"
"I… I thought about how… how it seems like I don't belong," she confessed. "Like I don't even know what I'm supposed to be doing, how I wouldn't even be here if Father had lived. It all felt pointless and I… I don't… I don't know what I'm saying."
"Emma..."
"Don't look at me like that. I feel dumb enough about this as it is," she informed him immediately. "It was just a bunch of stupid thoughts. I was just feeling sorry for myself cause it didn't seem like I was needed in the investigation is all."
She risked a glance over at him before she sighed and covered her face in her hands, getting more embarrassed by the minute on how he was looking at her with an expression she couldn't read. Pity, remorse? Either way, it gnawed at her. She didn't want him to get upset because she'd been throwing an internal pity party.
"Uncle, I'm fine, really. I think I'm still just, you know, processing my emotions over Father," she said before she hugged him. "Really, I'm okay. I'm good, honest."
"You sure? I didn't realize I was making you feel like that. Dean and I used to split up the work all the time," he said softly.
"Except you took all the work," she snarked and then gently punched his shoulder, desperate to reassure him. "Kidding. I'm sure I'm good. In fact, the only thing I could go for now is something to eat. Seriously, I'm starving. You mind making the food run this time? I'll clean up all the papers."
"Alright. Actually, I should call Sarah too, tell her the job is done," he said. "You want to come along?"
"No thanks. I think I'll skip the dewy romance eyes this time."
The way he smacked the back of her head let her know he wasn't worried about her anymore, just annoyed. This time his irritated reaction to her words about Sarah made her feel much better instead of worse.
Sam headed out about fifteen minutes later, once he was sure that Emma was really okay. He hadn't realized she'd been feeling so off, maybe too wrapped up in his own things to pay as much attention as he should have been. Things were different with her than they were with Dean, a lot different, but he'd learn to navigate it eventually. It would take time was all.
It was a good thing the job was done, because he was ready to say goodbye to this state and head back to the cabin. He should say a proper goodbye to Sarah but come the morning he and his niece could hit the road. Fishing out his phone as he climbed into the Plymouth, he dialed the woman's number and pulled out of the parking lot.
After several rings it went to her voice mail.
"Sarah, hey, it's me, Sam. Don't worry about calling back, just wanted to let you know what was going on real quick. We got the job done but I wanted to say goodbye before I left. I'm heading there now. Anyway, I'll see you soon."
She had to be busy if she couldn't even answer. Then again, she had look exhausted earlier, and she was probably still working too. Well, he could swing by before grabbing dinner. Maybe she'd even want to join the two of them. Pulling into the parking lot, he saw the lights were still on inside so he opened the door to let himself in.
The place was as empty as it had been earlier, but when he stepped inside he felt a sense of unease about the place, the air seeming colder than it should have been. The bell of the door rang as he walked inside, but otherwise it was all quiet and still.
"Sarah?" he called. "Sarah, it's Sam. Are you here?"
He walked around a large painting, trying to see if she might be somewhere near the back when he stopped short at the sight of her body on the ground at the base of the stairs, blood seeping from her head where she was laying out on the floor.
"SARAH!" he cried out, running to her immediately, kneeling down next to her. "No, no, no!"
End of Chapter 27
Yeah, this is a cliffhanger. Nothing to do about it. There was no way I was going to be able to cram in a whole case in just one chapter, not without it being twice as long. Might as well keep it split up into two.
For those who caught it, Blaise Reynard is actually a character from a short story called The Maker of Gargoyles by Clark Ashton Smith, ironically a writer who suffered from agoraphobia much like Emma, and also had a photographic memory… just like Emma. I swear I didn't know this when I started writing the details of the case including a gargoyle carver, but when I found out I just had to do the shout out. Not only are they a tradition of the show anyway, I just found that too funny not to throw in.